Ch 23: Guide to Running a Shop in Another World II

Budu’s little face brightened, completely different from the pale, colorless expression moments ago, now glowing with the excitement of a child entrusted with their first errand.

“What is it? I’ll do it perfectly,” he said.

Lu Yao bent down, extending her hand toward him. “We’ll talk about it when we get back. The other day, I passed by here and saw the flower trees along this riverbank sprouting buds. Budu, have you ever seen spring during your time on Qianmen Mountain?”

Budu’s hands were as cold as iron, never warming even when tucked into pockets, and she wasn’t wearing gloves today.

He hesitated, not reaching out, and instead looked at her in confusion, shaking his head slightly.

Qianmen Mountain was blanketed in snow year-round, and as a snow spirit, warmth meant death to him. He had never witnessed the melting of winter snow or the revival of spring.

Lu Yao stepped forward, taking his hand and leading him along the path lined with flower trees just beginning to sprout tiny rice-grain-sized buds. “I want to take a break today, so let me show you the spring in the human world.”

Budu lowered his head slightly, pressing his lips together to stifle the smile threatening to break free.

Spring or winter, it didn’t matter to him. As long as he could stay by her side, he was content.

Lu Yao continued, “I don’t understand much about gods, but I’ve had the fortune to meet a few. If you stay with me, all you’ll learn is how to be human.”

Budu’s heart skipped a beat, and he looked up at her.

Lu Yao stood on tiptoe, pulling down a thin branch extending toward the water. Its brownish twigs were densely covered with budding shoots. “But I think, before becoming a god, perhaps being human for a while isn’t such a bad idea.”

Budu’s gaze moved from the slender branch she held to her face, his heart trembling like the branch in her hand.

Lu Yao released the branch, smiling with her eyes, the light in them piercing through like sunshine breaking into the water, reaching the depths of his soul.

“Budu, don’t reject the spring,” Lu Yao said. “There are all kinds of gods—compassionate ones, cruel ones, arrogant ones, and selfless ones. What kind of god do you think you’ll become? I’m looking forward to it.”

[I’m looking forward to it.]

The words reignited the lonely, stubborn corners of Budu’s heart, and his crimson eyes glowed even brighter.

He nodded firmly. “Okay.”

It was still early spring, and this riverside path lined with flower trees wasn’t nearly as vibrant as the previous year when Lu Yao first arrived at the shopping street. The branches were only beginning to form buds.

A cold wind blew in from the river, causing Lu Yao to sneeze. Budu immediately insisted they return.

As they turned to head back, a muffled “plop” resounded from behind.

Lu Yao stopped and turned at the sound, spotting the splash of water. Without a second thought, she ran over, threw her coat to Budu, kicked off her shoes, and jumped into the river.

Budu stood on the riverbank clutching her coat, his face filled with worry.

About a minute later, Lu Yao surfaced, dragging someone with her.

She pushed the person toward the shore, where Budu pulled them out.

The person, coughing and retching from the water they’d swallowed, collapsed in a disheveled heap on the ground.

Lu Yao climbed out, sitting on the ground with her knees up, dripping wet from head to toe. Water streamed continuously from her hair and clothes.

She glanced sideways at the person, raising an eyebrow. “It’s you.”

The woman raised her head, her brow furrowed tightly. She didn’t recognize Lu Yao.

Lu Yao stood up, taking the coat from Budu and wrapping it around herself, still shivering from the cold. “We met at the hospital once. You probably didn’t notice me. I’m Lu Yao.”

The woman looked down, tidying herself up, her voice hoarse from the water she’d swallowed. “I don’t remember. But thank you.”

Lu Yao asked, “You weren’t trying to end your life, were you?”

The woman shook her head. “I just came out to get some air and got lost in thought.”

What kind of heavy mind does it take to become that lost in thought?

Lu Yao recalled the two times she had seen her and felt a pang of sympathy. “You’re drenched. My place is just up there. Why don’t you come and change into some dry clothes?”

Yu Shu shook her head. “Thank you for your kindness, but my car is parked just up ahead. I’ll head back now.”

Lu Yao followed her gaze to see a white sedan parked on the riverside embankment.

Perhaps she really was just out to clear her head.

Lu Yao didn’t press further, watching as Yu Shu trudged up the embankment and drove away. Only then did she and Budu head back.

Returning to the shopping street, Ji Feiming was startled to see Lu Yao dripping wet.

Lu Yao brushed him off, heading to the nail salon to shower and change into dry clothes before returning to the inn.

Budu was there with Ji Qingyan, building models. Meanwhile, Yuanwei and Xiao Zheng were in the main kitchen, exchanging cooking tips, and Heici and Zhu Zhou were outside practicing driving the miniature train.

Post-ice period, the weather on the Nitean continent was mostly clear.

Lu Yao inspected the inside and outside of the inn before grabbing a small stool and a basket of model parts. “Budu, want to come with me to fix the tracks?”

Budu put down the model in his hand and jumped off his high stool. “I’ll go.”

Lu Yao headed toward the door. “Bring your own stool.”

During the inn’s initial days, Lu Yao, Harold, and Budu had built a path outside the Thorn Valley, later adding a circular track along the fence.

Now that the ice period had ended and the sunshine season was approaching, life was beginning to flourish again. This season was said to be one of the most active for the Nitean people.

The inn aimed to take advantage of this season to increase income and complete system tasks.

Lu Yao planned to build four main roads extending in four directions from the inn, interspersed with train tracks and mini car paths, creating a spiderweb-shaped transportation network centered on the inn.

It was a massive project, but replicating the design of the first road and track would simplify the process, allowing it to progress step by step.

The main road from the Red Pig Tribe already connected to the inn; now they only needed to build a track to link it on either side.

Lu Yao and Budu sat on opposite sides of the fence, ready to begin. Lu Yao pulled out a gift box from her portable storage and handed it over. “This is for you.”

Budu took the gift box, which looked similar to the ones distributed to the nail salon staff the previous day, except this one had a different wrapping pattern.

The wrapping was a cool silver-gray with intricate snowflake designs and plump little snowmen.

Budu ran his fingers over the textured pattern, a slight smile curving his lips.

Lu Yao smiled along. “Open it and see.”

As expected, inside was a sleek silver smartphone.

Lu Yao explained, “This phone is different from the others. In addition to the internal network system, it also has the back-end system, just like mine.”

Budu lifted his gaze, staring intently at her.

Lu Yao continued, “What I said earlier by the river wasn’t just to comfort you. The internal network spans multiple worlds and taps into various forces. While staff and guests are bound by agreements, there’s no guarantee there won’t be loopholes.

“Desire fuels power, and with so many unknown worlds, we can’t predict when something might breach the network. As the developer and operator of this system, I need someone who is absolutely neutral and absolutely powerful to manage it. In this world, no one but you is qualified.”

Lu Yao envisioned Budu not just guarding the internal network but also protecting the boundaries between worlds. No one was more suitable for the role than a god—or a deity in training.

Budu clutched the phone tightly, his heart pounding.

Seeing his serious expression, Lu Yao reached through the fence and ruffled his silver hair. “Relax. There’s still so much for you to learn. Our inn has many exceptional human staff members. Observe and ask questions. Don’t be shy.”

Budu lowered his head, his expression softening. “Okay.”

…

Yaoguang City, Downtown.

Bai Jing stepped out of the meeting room holding a stack of documents, his expression carrying a hint of fatigue.

Back in his office, he set the documents down casually and leaned back in his chair. Removing his glasses, he closed his eyes and massaged his brow. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Ignoring it, Bai Jing continued rubbing his temples and rested for a while longer before reaching for his phone. A new message lit up the screen:

[Dear VIP user, good afternoon. Lu Yao’s Shopping Street invites you to participate in the client beta test. Would you like to download the “Lu Yao’s Shopping Street App”?]

Bai Jing’s brow twitched slightly. He had been swamped since the Lunar New Year and hadn’t visited the Shopping Street for nearly two weeks.

When did Lu Yao develop an app?

Every visit required signing a strict confidentiality agreement. Launching an app and promoting it widely—was this really okay?

Moreover, given that the stores were all from other worlds, how could an online app provide services? Bai Jing couldn’t fathom why Lu Yao had created this feature.

Despite his doubts, he tapped “Yes” with his finger.

The page transitioned: [Response received. Downloading app…]

Five minutes later, Bai Jing returned with a cup of hot water to find his phone screen displaying: [Download complete.]

Setting the cup down, he sat back in his chair and opened the newly installed app, named “Lu Yao’s Shopping Street.” Its interface was simple, with a black, white, and gray color scheme. The layout was sparse, with four main tabs at the bottom: Contacts, Shopping Street Feed, VIP, and User.

Before exploring the functions, a supplementary confidentiality agreement popped up on the screen.

To participate in the beta test, clients were required to sign this updated agreement.

Bai Jing hesitated briefly before selecting “Agree” and scanning his fingerprint.

Once inside the User tab, he found himself automatically logged in.

The interface displayed his real information, including his name, VIP level, the date he became a VIP client, his status, account code, subscribed channels, and user guidelines.

His VIP registration date was listed as last year, and his level correlated with his spending at the marketplace.

As one of the earliest VIP clients of Lu Yao’s Shopping Street, Bai Jing’s status was marked as “Senior VIP Client,” adorned with a public crown icon.

Following this was his account code, an empty subscriptions section, and a usage guide. The final option was “Delete App.”

The Contacts function resembled a dedicated chat feature for the marketplace, while the Shopping Street Circle was similar to conventional social media feeds. The VIP tab, however, remained inaccessible for now.

Bai Jing exited the user tab. So far, nothing about the app seemed particularly groundbreaking compared to others.

He tapped into Contacts and Shopping Street Feed, but as he hadn’t added any friends, both sections were empty.

Bai Jing grew increasingly puzzled. Was this app merely a means to maintain VIP clientele?

Just then, the clock in the corner of his screen ticked from 16:59 to 17:00, and a new message popped up:

[Dear Senior VIP user, during the beta test, the VIP is open to you free of charge for 30 minutes daily. Enjoy your experience!]

Bai Jing stared at the message for half a minute, zeroing in on the key phrase “free of charge.” The implicit message: “After 30 minutes, continued access will require payment.”

Interesting.

In this age of information overload, modern users had grown accustomed to novel and intriguing content, with a high threshold for fascination.

Unfortunately, Bai Jing, being a surgeon, rarely encountered content that genuinely compelled him to pay for access.

He doubted that the rudimentary app from Lu Yao’s Shopping Street could offer anything truly extraordinary, but since it was free, there was no harm in exploring.

He tapped the screen lightly, entering the VIP section.

Simultaneously, many other clients who had received the beta invitation also began exploring. Among them were Jing Yuxi, idly resting after piano practice; Luo Huan, heading home after a game of basketball with friends; and Ji Feirong, just finishing a board meeting.

Two days ago, news about the shopping street’s development of an online platform spread, and Ji Feichen, a newly joined VIP client, found himself unexpectedly included in the beta test list.

The number of customers from the current world was small, even fewer than the staff in some shops. To gather more valuable data, Lu Yao had to invite all the clients to participate in the beta test.

…

In a city cinema, Bai Zheng, Bai Jin, and Bai Lu had just finished watching a movie.

While Bai Lu went to the restroom, Bai Zheng and Bai Jin sat in the lounge area, pulled out their phones, and immediately noticed the beta test invitation.

They exchanged a glance and began downloading the app.

By the time Bai Lu returned, her cousins were glued to their screens, completely ignoring her.

She leaned closer to see what they were doing but was baffled as their phones appeared as if protected by privacy screens.

Meanwhile, Bai Zheng and Bai Jin seemed entranced, their eyes widening with each passing moment, occasionally muttering phrases like, “Whoa,” “Oh my,” and “Holy—.”

Feeling exasperated, Bai Lu plopped down next to Bai Jin, pulled out her own phone, and started scrolling through social media, waiting for them to snap out of it.

In the hospital office, Bai Jing had just entered the VIP section.

The interface suddenly transformed. A pale blue border decorated with colorful doodles appeared—at first glance, seemingly childish, but upon closer inspection, exuding a refreshing charm.

The layout was reminiscent of a typical social media content platform, with rows of gray content boxes resembling a “daily to-do list.” It was unclear what lay within each box.

In the top-left corner of the screen was a countdown timer, displaying 30 minutes.

Ignoring the timer, Bai Jing tapped on the first gray box. The bar expanded into a small screen—

On it appeared a translucent blue slime with pudgy little arms, each finger seemingly adorned with something.

At this point, Bai Jing hadn’t realized the gravity of what he was witnessing. The slime’s soft, glistening appearance was strikingly lifelike, far removed from typical 3D-rendered visuals.

The adorable blob began to chant, “O dark forces hidden within—”

Snap, snap, snap! The nails on its chubby fingers detached and transformed.

Accompanied by a classic transformation BGM, an armored, gallant young figure emerged from a watery curtain, with light blue eyes and long hair. His face bore a striking resemblance to Lu Yao’s.

Bai Jing took a deep breath, glancing at the top-left corner of the small screen. The account info displayed a cute slime avatar with a bow icon next to the ID, “Jiji.”

Was this a synthesized video or a genuine daily share from the Shopping Street?

Bai Jing couldn’t immediately tell.

Even as a seasoned VIP client, this was his first time encountering such content. Knowing the mysterious nature of the Shopping Street only made it harder for him to stay composed.

If the daily shares on this platform were all authentic glimpses from the Shopping Street’s otherworldly domains, then paying for this content might genuinely be worth it…

Unknowingly, Bai Jing’s thoughts had already shifted. Eager to confirm his suspicions, he tapped on the next gray box.

The second content bar unfolded, and Bai Jing became increasingly convinced that the VIP’s shared posts were all from the Shopping Street’s otherworldly dimensions.

This particular entry was undoubtedly from the Little Pet Café.

The first frame showed a breathtaking sunset in the distance, the camera gradually panning back to reveal a pier. A group of plump, round seals were adorably stacking themselves in a game of “seal tower,” letting out soft “awoo” cries.

Bai Jing’s lips curled upward involuntarily. Having visited the Little Pet Café several times, he instantly recognized these as the shop’s signature waterdrop seals.

The clip was only about ten seconds long, but the waterdrop seals, much like cats, hit all the aesthetic sweet spots for humans.

Furry, snow-white fur, round heads, and soft cries of “awoo, awoo.”

Watching it once wasn’t enough; Bai Jing wanted to replay it. But when he tried, it wouldn’t load again.

The interface displayed: “During the free trial, repeat viewing is not supported.”

Bai Jing: “…”

A sense of impending doom, as if he were about to be “harvested,” crossed his mind. He glanced at the countdown timer in the top left corner—only a few minutes had passed—and relaxed a bit.

However, the thirty minutes flew by faster than expected. Just when Bai Jing thought he’d barely started, he heard a “beep, beep, beep.”

At the final second of the countdown, a golden gift box tied with a ribbon and bow popped up—

“Your trial period has ended. Congratulations! You’ve earned an extra bonus! Open it?”

Bai Jing blinked in surprise and clicked “Yes.”

The gift box burst open, revealing another small screen.

Bai Jing watched for a few seconds and quickly realized that this content must be from the Interdimensional Cinema.

It was a movie trailer—specifically, for a documentary.

The trailer began with a bustling street scene. The marketplace was lined with shops, and pedestrians dressed in rough linen and coarse cloth filled the streets. It looked just like the set of a historical drama.

As the camera gradually zoomed in, an evocative narration led viewers deeper into the ancient world of the Great Wu Dynasty.

The next moment, a shop called Interdimensional Cinema appeared incongruously on one side of the street. Its flamboyant and luxurious design clashed starkly with the surrounding simplicity, but the seeds of movie culture had clearly been sown in this barren land.

Could cinema take root, blossom, and bear fruit in an ancient kingdom a thousand years ago?

How would the people of antiquity view a cinema and its films?

All these questions promised to be answered in the Interdimensional Cinema’s first large-scale documentary, “Conversations Across Millennia: The People of Liangjing and the Cinema”, directed by Fu Chi.

The trailer concluded, leaving an eye-catching red “Buy Tickets” button suspended in the middle of the screen.

Bai Jing: “…”

Other than work-related films, Bai Jing rarely watched documentaries.

Who the hell came up with such a bizarre concept—exploring the impact of a cinema on the lives of people in feudal society?

Oh, right—Fu Chi.

Fine, it’s just a 59 yuan movie ticket. Buy it. I’ll buy it, okay?

He had managed to resist spending money during the free trial, only to succumb to the bonus content.

Bai Jing clicked the “Buy Tickets” button, and two options popped up: 2D Theater, priced at 59 yuan, and Holographic Theater, priced at 599 yuan.

Holographic?

If it wasn’t an immersive viewing experience, he’d raise hell.

Gritting his teeth, Bai Jing selected the 599 yuan option. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford the ticket—it was just that this app was too damn good at wringing money out of him.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a beta test?

Why did it feel like stepping into a trap to be “harvested”?

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